


fear might be the death of me

by AccioInvisibilityCloak



Category: Lovely Little Losers, Nothing Much to Do
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Benedick is socially anxious I don't make the rules, Extroverted Character with Social Anxiety, F/M, Fluff, Mental Illness, Social Anxiety, Swearing, prompted on tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 22:14:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4642059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AccioInvisibilityCloak/pseuds/AccioInvisibilityCloak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Seven seconds. That's how long it takes him to potentially lose Beatrice forever...</p><p>These days he spends most of his time editing vlogs alone in his room, until the loneliness pushes him out... Uni wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t meant to be like this at all."</p><p>LLL speculation character study on Benedick. Requested by ramannoodles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fear might be the death of me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bluesapphic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluesapphic/gifts).



> Anxiety TW for this. Please read the A/N at the end.

Seven seconds. That's all.

One minute and seven fucking seconds. That’s how long it takes Ben to potentially lose Beatrice forever.

         Freddie cackles as she plays back the video, showing him the evidence with glee. Since she got caught coming home past curfew after an evening class, she’s been waiting for someone else to break so she can get suitable revenge for having been made to sleep in a tent in the back garden for several days (Balthazar’s idea, and Benedick can’t help but be impressed with his friend’s ruthlessness. Hummus changes people, apparently.)

But Freddie’s vindictiveness surpasses all, and when Beatrice showed up at the flat with Meg to surprise him the other day, Ben had hugged his girlfriend for one minute and seven seconds exactly. Somehow, Freddie has figured out how to play the footage back in slow motion, and the fact is undeniable, so he has to take a punishment.

Peter takes the honor of doling out the punishment, with a disinterested glare. “Yes, Freddie, Ben broke the rules and now he has to stay away from Beatrice for a week, can we move on? I have rehearsal to get to.”

“ _What?_ Nonononono, you can’t do that, she’s going to kill me-” Ben twists around to appeal to Peter, and he would be falling off the couch right now if Balth and Freddie didn’t have him neatly penned in on either side.

“Should’ve thought of that before you agreed to the rules, mate,” Peter laughs, and hauls himself back to his feet and marches into his room. The door slams behind him as Freddie picks up the slack and lays out the punishment parameters for the camera. She’s getting way too good at this vlogging thing. Balthazar just sits there, silent, trying not to smile through his pitying expression.

Seven days, one for each second, and all Ben’s protests can’t make his flatmates back down. No seeing Beatrice at all. No calling, texting, Skyping, nothing. Freddie’s idea, because Beatrice doesn’t hate him enough already. Perfect.

                                                                                  ***

Day Three. Bea has officially stopped trying to text him.

It isn’t like he can’t handle being away from her, he’s not some clingy puppy. They’ve been managing long-distance perfectly well for months now, after all.

 In fact, he resents the implication that Beatrice is too much temptation for him to break the rules. She’s a _person_ , not a bar of dairy-milk chocolate like the one he caught Freddie stashing in her bag today (it’s Wednesday, so non-vegan stuff is technically allowed, or he’d have called punishment.)

And he doesn’t just want to see her so they can make out or get up to shenanigans or whatever. He happens to genuinely like spending time with Beatrice. She’s one of his best friends, and the idea that she’s somewhere in the city, furious and confused, not knowing why he’s cold-shouldering her, is starting to eat him alive. He can’t stand the thought of hurting her again, and this is twice now that the rules have made him do just that.

Balth and Freddie have to all but push him out the door to go to lunch with Peter’s friends from the play that afternoon. They’ve been pretty much stalking him for the last two days, making sure he doesn’t try to call Bea, and honestly Ben's starting to wonder just how healthy this rules and punishments thing is. What is this, the 1500s? Although if it was the 1500s it would be even harder to contact Beatrice.

Are carrier pigeons still a thing? He wonders. Freddie would never suspect him of trying that… probably.

***

                There are so many people here, Ben thinks, looking around the food court. He’s supposed to be looking for Peter’s new theater friends, but instead he feels like the entire room is looking right at him. He sticks out like a sore thumb with his too-long limbs and his English accent- he feels just as out of place here on campus as he did when he came to Auckland as a nervous, energetic, lonely thirteen-year-old.  Ben would do pretty much anything to make sure he’s never that alone again.

So when he finally spots the Faustus cast, he bounds over to their table and squeezes in right next to Peter, who barely suppresses a groan at the mile-a-minute chatter that starts as soon as Ben sits down.

He’s vaguely aware of Freddie and Balth taking the other two empty spots at the table. They’re both fairly quiet, Balth only speaking to Paige in hushed tones. Freddie is mostly glued to her phone, and maybe Ben would have noticed the blush on her cheeks and thought to be suspicious of just whom she might be texting.

Except that his mind is weirdly fuzzy, thoughts flying a mile a minute, faster than he can articulate them, and his leg under the table is bouncing up and down so much it shakes his salad plate, and Costa is laughing awkwardly at Ben’s remark about selling souls to the Devil. They talk about Marlowe, but Ben feels like he can hardly hear Costa over the constant thought that _oh my God why did I say that everyone is looking at me and that wasn’t even funny and what if they think I’m weird for knowing that much about Marlowe but no they love Marlowe too, they’re putting on Faustus, I wish I’d auditioned, I would have been terrible, no, I’d have been awesome, oh God what did Jaquie just say, smile and nod, smile and nod, you’re okay, they like you, see, they do-_

And then he’s walking away with Freddie and Balth again, and lunch is over, and without fully realizing it, he’s promised to come to the table read tonight and film it for posterity (Costa’s delighted words). The rest of the cast offer polite smiles and a “see you later” or two. The director shakes his hand with a “Lovely to meet you, Benedick. I’d quite like to talk Marlowe again sometime, you must tell me what you think of the historical inaccuracies in _Marlowe in Love_!”

So that went well. Yeah. Couldn’t ask for much better.

                                                                                                                             ***

It’s just so much _harder_ without the camera.

When he has the camera, that’s all people see. Maybe they get all excited and throw on a star-is-born persona, like Meg and Costa. Maybe they feel awkward, like Freddie or Balth. But at least, no matter how they react, the judgement falls on the camera, and not on the weird guy behind it. Not on Ben.

Without the camera, though, he has nothing but himself. He has nothing but his not-funny jokes and his weird noodle limbs and his loudness and litany of useless trivia about birds and vlogging and Christopher Marlowe. And honestly, half the people at that table today looked at him like they thought he was insane. Or just insanely annoying.

Ben doesn’t know how to do the friendship thing, he never has. He’s surprised that anyone still wants to be around him at all, because all he does is cling until he pushes people away. These days he spends most of his time editing vlogs alone in his room, until the loneliness pushes him out. He lives for seeing people, gets his energy from spending time with his friends, but even when he’s with them he can’t stop thinking how alone he feels.

Uni wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t meant to be like this at all.

                He does have a video to shoot before going out tonight. He’s meant to be vlogging every day of this forced separation from Beatrice- he supposes Peter and Fred and Balthazar think it’s funny, watching him suffer worrying about her hating him. Peter definitely does, and Ben almost can’t blame him.

But it’s this weird keyed-up feeling, like his entire body is vibrating, like he can’t calm down- it’s been happening to him a lot lately. Today he’s been stuck in the grip of it since lunch. Class was a nightmare, there was no possible way he could make himself pay attention. The anxiety just wouldn’t leave him alone. And the more he thinks about it, the worse it gets.

His breathing quickens, his head feels stuffed with cotton and like it’s spinning on empty at the same time. The camera is on, but every time he opens his mouth, he loses his train of thought and is left gaping like a dying fish. He _feels_ like a dying fish, like he can’t get enough oxygen, like every breath forced through his lungs still isn’t enough.

 Peter’s friends probably think he’s really irritating, his flatmates don’t want him around, they don’t even notice that he’s disappeared off to his room when he’s supposed to be vacuuming the living room again. Beatrice is going to break up with him, it’s a miracle she hasn’t already, and then he’s going to have to vlog about it because he can’t screw up the damn posting schedule and- and-

  _They hate me they hate me they hate me-_ the thought whirs through his mind at top speed until everything else in the room disappears, and he’s there on the edge of the bed, feet planted on the ground and hands gripping his knees, head bowed, just trying to breathe. _Breathe._

The pain in his chest is mounting, a circle of heat and hurt screaming right in the center of him, and one hand goes up to clutch the fabric of his shirt and beneath it, his skin, which he twists until it hurts almost as much as the dull pain he’s already trying to curb. The pressure helps.

And later, when this is over, when he takes off his shirt as he’s getting ready for bed, a patch of skin on his chest will be all red and raw from the scraping of fabric and buttons and his nails digging into the place where the ghost of the pain will still be waiting, ready to pounce. But for now it is here and it’s real and it _hurts_ like he’s collapsing in on himself but his heart is trying to smash its way out of him and he’s dying, he has to be dying, it hurts hurts _hurts-_

“There you are!” says a voice, a familiar voice that sends another jolt of pain through his heart, because he was right. She sounds furious, and he’s too far gone to be confused as to why she’s even here.

                                                                           ***

Beatrice. She’s outside the open window, clutching her phone in one hand so tightly her knuckles have gone all white. So that explains why she wasn’t texting him- she wants to do this in-person, and he wishes she’d just leave him alone to suffer. Instead, she climbs inside, because of course his flatmates won't let her in at the door. There’s a tear in the knee of her jeans, and not the purposely-made kind. 

She takes a moment to catch her breath, and then- “Why the hell haven’t you been answering your phone, you _colossal dickface,_ did you really think I wouldn’t notice if you just fell off the face of the Earth? Are you actually _trying_ to- Ben?”

Beatrice’s voice drops quickly from anger to fear as she sees him clutching at his chest. All the fight goes out of her as soon as she realizes something’s not right. When he looks up he sees her, very pale and very worried and, yes, still with a glimmer of fury in her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, sitting down next to him, and she puts a hand on his knee and sort of shakes it, like the movement of his leg might jolt his brain back to normal. If only it were that easy.

“I- don’t-” he shakes his head, grasping for words. “It’s everything. I just have so much homework and I have to finish editing the next vlog and I just realized my professor is going to have to watch these, my whole class is going to watch these, and I know that shouldn’t matter because they’re already on the Internet, anyone could see them, but this is my actual in-person Sociology class- and what if they hate it? What if they all think I’m really weird and they hate it?”

He stops to take a breath. He hadn’t even realized that he was worrying about that, but now that he’s said it out loud, it’s true. Beatrice looks positively alarmed.

“But you love making videos,” she points out. “You’ve never had a problem posting them before. You wanted people to see them, right? And you can ask the flat if-”

“They hate me too,” he cuts in, and he can’t look at her when he says it, so he squeezes his eyes shut, presses the heels of his hands against his face to block the light.“The flat. I don’t even blame them. The videos are one thing- they hate being filmed, and I’m starting to hate filming, but it’s in the rules, so now I can’t stop. The stupid flat bonding was my idea, but whenever we go out we run into people we know- people Freddie knows, people Peter knows- and I always mess it up, I can’t talk to them. I just tag along and make bad jokes and say stuff no one cares about and I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t think I’ve made a single friend here who didn’t know Peter or Freds or Balthy first- and the people I have met, we talk once and then never again. It’s just like it always was before, nothing lasts, everyone leaves. I don’t know how to do this. I’m too much for them, too loud, too weird, too- I don’t know, but I just really don’t want to go out with Fred and Balth and try to make Peter’s friends like me again tonight, because it isn’t going to work anyway, and they’re happier without me there, and I’m so tired. I’m so _tired_ \- and then there’s you. They told me I couldn’t talk to you.”

“What?” says Beatrice, mystified. “Why would-?”

 “When you showed up at the flat last week,” Ben sighs, “I hugged you for one minute and seven seconds. Seven seconds over the limit. There’s video evidence because Meg was filming, so my punishment is not to talk to you or see you at all for a week. One day for every extra second. And now I’m going to lose you too, on top of everything else and I know I deserve it, all of it, but I can’t- I _can’t_ -”

“But that’s ridiculous!” Beatrice exclaims suddenly.

And Ben feels his heart sink down to his toes, because of course, she doesn’t understand.

She thinks he’s too sensitive and irrational and _ridiculous_. She’s going to tell him to just get over it, like Mum always does. She’ll demand that he just be normal, just get control of himself and his impossible thoughts- and then she’s going to leave and he’ll be alone like always, like he always is-

“You are _not_ going to lose me. I mean, yes, I’m upset. I’m furious at you for the stupid _rules_ and for just disappearing and scaring me like this- but that doesn’t mean I’m going anywhere, okay?” she finishes, and he opens his eyes again and stares at her.

There’s still fire in her blue eyes. She’s alive with that passion that makes her cheeks flush and her breath catch in her chest and her words slice like knives into whoever they touch- her hair is falling out of its ponytail and her free hand curls into a fist at her side and she’s beautiful. She’s fire, she’s _Beatrice_ , and he loves her and he doesn’t understand how he can ever touch her and not get burned. He’d deserve it, too.

“I- you- I came up with the no shenanigans rule! I _agreed_ to the no shenanigans rule, without telling you- I haven’t spoken to you for _days_ because my fucking flatmates are everywhere I turn! You _have_ to hate me… _I_ hate me.”

Beatrice’s hand moves to rest between his shoulder blades, rubbing his back in soft circles- like she did for Hero, on that awful night that’s finally in the past. He sucks in a deep breath, forces it through his lungs with another burst of pain- and then Beatrice actually laughs.

She laughs, soft and sad somehow, and says, “Hey, I thought we’d been over this. I’m not thrilled with the rules, but I could never hate you. I will _never_ hate you, Benedick. And even if everything you just said were true- which it’s _not_ \- you’re not getting rid of me that easily. We’re both too stubborn for that. It might not always be easy for me to say, but… I love you, okay? I do.”

“I know. I _know_ , but it’s like I just can’t make myself believe that, sometimes. I mean, how could you really still want me when I’m such a mess? All I do is push everyone away, why should this be any different? It happened once before, it could happen again.”

“Okay, look at me. I’m right here. I _want_ to be right here, with you. Your friends want to be around you. Nobody hates you, and if you can’t believe me, I’ll just have to remind you that it’s true,” she says gently, that fire dying out into one last spark of determination in her eyes. “I’ll remind you, whenever you need me to. I just don’t understand where all this is coming from.”

“I think…” he draws in another breath, steeling himself to say the words. “I think there’s something wrong with me. Balthy thinks… he thinks I should talk to someone… he goes to a counselor here at Elizabeth, for his depression. And I don’t have depression, I’m _fine_ , but- maybe I should.”

“Is it- is it sort of like Hero’s panic attacks? She gets them sometimes, when she’s really stressed or upset,” Beatrice says thoughtfully. “Do you think it’s that?”

“I think- you’re going to think this is weird, but I’ve done some Googling, and I think it- it might just be anxiety? Like, social anxiety, or something? It’s always about social things, when I get like this.”

“But I thought that was when you’re too scared to leave the house, and never talk to anyone, and- and that’s like the _opposite_ of you, you’re so-”

“Annoying?” offers Ben.

“I was going to say ‘outgoing’, actually. Be nicer to yourself, dickface,” Bea admonishes him, with a gentle smack to the shoulder.

“Whatever,” he sighs. “But I’ve been like this for a while, and extroverted people can have anxiety too. It’s not agoraphobia, it’s just- sometimes I get overwhelmed. I think it’s why I film all the time- it’s easier to be behind a camera, just observing conversations. Then I don’t have to join in, but I don’t have to be alone, either. I don’t know which is worse, most of the time.”

“You’re not alone, though,” says Beatrice seriously. “You do have friends. You have to know that.”

God, if it wasn’t for these rules he would be crushing her in a hug right now.

“Thank you for not… thinking this is silly, or telling me to just get over it or- I don’t know. It means a lot to me that you listened.”

“I’m glad you told me. Come here.” She opens her arms, smiling wide, and what else can he do but allow her to pull him close?

He wraps his arms around her, and for the first time in so long, there’s no tension between them at all. Though the pain still throbs deep in Ben’s chest, at least one worry is alleviated for now.

“I’ll talk to Hero for you, see what she does to calm down,” offers Beatrice. “I know this isn’t the same thing as she has, but maybe she could still help?”

“I- sure. Thanks. I didn’t know she was still getting panic attacks, I’m sorry.”

“She manages. Just like you’ll manage, okay?”

“…I hope so.”

He texts Freddie, claiming to be sick, and apparently he looked bad enough this afternoon when he was jawing about Marlowe nonstop, because she buys it and lets him off the hook for rehearsal. She promises to take Meg and her camera to the rehearsal instead. Thank god.

Ben and Bea spend the evening breaking rules in the best way, cuddled close and comfortably silent, until the strange can’t-calm-down feeling starts to go away.

Somehow she manages to be the one holding him, despite the height difference and the fact that she’s resting her head against his shoulder like she always used to. She still fits perfectly against him, so perfectly that the rules seem a travesty for keeping them apart. When Benedick’s heart speeds up and his breath hitches and he starts to worry again, it’s like Beatrice just knows.

“I’m so sorry, love. About all of this. I didn’t mean…” he trails off.

She reaches up impulsively, to plant small comforting kisses along his jawline. He sighs as she bypasses his lips and instead leaves a final kiss on his forehead, on the center of all these frenetic flying thoughts, whispering, “Shhh, you’re okay, it's fine. It’s fine.”

He almost believes her. But not quite. Not yet.

Beatrice reaches up to where Ben’s fingers are still twisted painfully into the front of his shirt. She carefully pushes his hand away and lays her own palm flat against the torn-open place in his chest, pressing gently as though to close the imagined wound. The touch cuts through the fog of disquiet in his mind, and his breathing slows to a more regular pace. He covers her hand with his own, and for a moment, everything’s all right again.

A miracle- at last, a moment of perfect calm, and Beatrice’s warm hand against his heart.

***

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you like it Shreeya! And everyone else! :) I may be out of the fandom, but I'm still around, still writing, and my ask is always open to talk about LLL headcanons, especially ones with Ben's anxiety. For example, in TOWN he definitely left the bar not just because someone bumped the camera, but also because he was starting to feel overwhelmed by all the people and noise, and much preferred talking to Paige and Chelsey out in the quiet street instead.
> 
> Couple important things to say here:  
> 1) The title comes from the song "Doubt" by Twenty One Pilots (which, go look at the lyrics and tell me it isn't Ben to everyone right now, especially Bea). I've been really into their music lately and I now have a headcanon that Ben hears Balth blasting 21P really loudly one day in the flat, and he falls in love with them too, they have a sort of Fife and the Drums-esque sound and the lyrics reach inside him and twist him up and set him right again.  
> 2) I want to be clear that even though Beatrice comforts Ben in this fic, she can't make his anxiety actually go away. Romantic relationships are not a solution to mental illness. This isn't meant to be Beatrice making the anxiety go away, so much as it is Ben getting emotional and physical comfort and support from someone who loves him, and finding that it helps in this one instance. Which it does. And Beatrice totally has the right to be mad at him, but I don't think it's that unrealistic to think that if she found him in the anxious state he's in, her priorities wouldn't immediately shift to making sure he's okay, no matter how angry she is, so that's why I did that. I hope they both still feel in-character enough. It is so tough to make them soft and supportive or hurting when most of what we've seen of them is teasing each other.  
> 3) I relied heavily on my own experiences with social anxiety in crafting this fic, but because Ben is extroverted and is a character with his own characterization already, his experiences aren't identical to mine. I'm introverted for one, so while Ben throws himself into uncomfortable social interactions head-on and then feels anxious, I feel anxious first and just avoid the uncomfortable interaction entirely. Point is, I tried my best, and I'm sorry if anyone feels this depiction of anxiety is unrealistic. I'm not an expert, just a person with a headcanon who happens to struggle with social anxiety herself.  
> 4) No, I'm not excusing Ben's shitty actions this series. Yes I'm offering a possible explanation. Yes I still love Benedick. No I don't begrudge anyone else their right to hate him. No I will never talk over anyone's opinions or crit, or be a biphobia-apologist.  
> 5) If your reaction to this fic is to laugh and say that yes, everyone does hate Ben and he deserves to feel this way, then please go away and keep that to yourself. No one deserves to feel this way. The depiction of anxiety in this fic is not meant to be funny. Just want to nip that reaction in the bud right now.  
> 6) If this fic resonated with you, if you think you might have anxiety like this, please talk to someone about it, because you shouldn't have to feel this way, ever. I promise you're never as alone as you feel. You are not alone. *hugs* And my ask on tumblr is always open to you, even though I'm not on much anymore.


End file.
